


Lost for Words

by Jaydee_Faire



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Gen, kylo ren scaring people, overworked starkiller techs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7095241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydee_Faire/pseuds/Jaydee_Faire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mousy little tech known for trading electronics repair for sweets gets a very special customer :) (It's Kylo Ren. Our tech manages not to pee himself while screaming.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost for Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Korpuskat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korpuskat/gifts).



> My friend Coddie (Korpuskat) and I were discussing the prospect of the voicebox in Kylo Ren's mask malfunctioning, particularly under stress (i.e., while moaning in pleasure). I wrote this for them, even though the fic turned out more cute than sexy.

His call number was U-779B, but his squadmates called him Mouse. He was small enough and slim enough to crawl right into a control console to find a faulty connection, and he'd garnered a reputation as a very capable tech, both with the larger modules and also with smaller electronics. He'd often come back to his quarters after a shift and find a pile of bricked datapads, along with a separate pile of bribes of various kinds. Sweets were rare on the base, but they could be smuggled in, and everyone knew Mouse would gladly unbrick your device, no questions asked, as long as you gave him something to help indulge his sweet tooth.

The requests for repairs could get a little annoying at times, but it gave him something to do in his off hours, and anyway, it was nice to feel useful. He'd spent many a happy evening tinkering with circuitboards, snacking on maple candies and jam tarts.

So when someone had come through his door at 2100 hours one night without bothering to ring at the security pad first, he'd just assumed it was someone come to beg his assistance with fixing their blaster before their el-tee found out. Someone tall. Slim. And wearing a black bathrobe.

...Bathrobe?

Mouse looked up. His heart froze. "Lord Ren," he squeaked, trying to sit up straight and shrink down out of sight at the same time.

"U-779B." The deep rasp of the dark mask's voice chip put a shiver down Mouse's spine and a damp spot in his pants. "Correct?"

"Sir!" Mouse squealed, trying to salute and nearly braining himself with the cracked datapad he was holding. He hastily set it down, looked down at the various other devices scattered over his desk along with the remains of quite a great deal of contraband biscuits, then looked back up. "I-- uh-- I--"

"I have come to request your assistance."

"It isn't mine it just-- shows up on my desk I think people put it here to frame me I've never eaten any of it I..." Mouse swallowed. "...What?"

"This." A finger lifts to point at the lower half of the terrifying, emotionless visage. "Is malfunctioning."

Mouse clasped his hands in his lap to keep them from shaking. "Uh. Is... it?"

"The voice chip does not always work as desired. Most often when put under stress."

"Uh... uhm. Oh. Oh, the chip. Uh." Mouse swallowed. _Do what he asks, just do what he asks and maybe he'll go away and no one will get force-choked and then you can go and change your underwear._ "Ha... have you been... maintaining it? Cleaning it properly?" He asked, in the most 'please do not stab me' voice he could muster.

"Yes."

"Okay. Um. C-can you... tell me what kind of... problems you've been having with it?"

A pause. "Occasionally the chip does not repeat things in the same way that I said them," Ren said finally.

Mouse waited, and when the man didn't elaborate, he asked timidly, "Can you give me an example?"

"No."

Another short silence as the two men stared at each other. Mouse rubbed his chin, looked up at the ceiling as if in prayer, then said, "Well... the chip might have some corrosion on it, or it might just be old. It could need updating to a more advanced model." He lifted one finger. "Can I... er... can I see it?"

He'd expected another flat no, honestly, but to his surprise, astonishment, and then sudden abject terror, Kylo Ren lifted both hands to his helmet, unclasping it and pulling it off of his head. Mouse got a brief glimpse at the man's face-- dark hair, pale skin-- but kept his eyes focused on the mask mostly because of the superstition that anyone who saw Ren's unmasked face did not often live long afterwards.

"Make any necessary adjustments." Ren's voice without the mask was low and even, and would have been pleasant if Mouse wasn't frantically clearing space on his desk to make room as Ren set the mask down in the center of it. "I assume this will take priority over your other... projects."

"Yessir," Mouse said, saluting again. Ren turned and left without another word. Mouse reached out to touch the underside of the mask, found it still warm, and jerked his hand back.

Then he got up to find a fresh set of underwear.

  
The voice chip in Kylo Ren's mask was an older model, four or five years out of the box at least, which in tech terms was practically stoneage technology. Mouse opened the mask's electronic casing and pried the chip out-- he wasn't about the put the damn thing on his own head to test it-- and found Ren had been right: the chip worked under normal circumstances, if you spoke slowly and clearly and allowed it time to catch up, but any kind of shouting or mumbling often came out as either grating digital static or worse, garbled nonsense words as the chip frantically tried to make sense of the input.

He cannibalized a voice chip out of one of the newer trooper helmets, and it only took him twenty minutes to wire it into place and screw the casing back on, so he took the liberty of replacing the foam padding on the inside of the face plate as well. He was busily buffing the outside of the mask with his sleeve, admiring his handiwork, when he caught himself and set the thing back down.

Mouse didn't tell any of his squadmates about his encounter with the mysterious Kylo Ren during his shift the next day. What _could_ he say-- "and then I got so scared that I pissed myself?" Besides, it wasn't as if anyone would actually believe him. So he kept quiet, kept his head down. When his shift was over, he headed back to his quarters again. He'd spent so much time trying not to think about the damn mask that when he walked into his room, he was surprised to see it still sitting there.

"Have you completed the repairs?"

Mouse leaped forward, hit the table, and went down on his knees, very narrowly avoiding having to change his pants again. "Lord Ren," he said, and he wondered if he'd ever be able to say that name without squeaking. "Um! Uh. Yes. Yes, I have. I did. Last night. It should be fine now, I replaced the..."

But Ren simply reached over Mouse's head, seized the mask, and walked off again. The door slid shut and Mouse sat on the floor, staring at it and waiting for his heartrate to go back to normal. He stayed like that for several minutes, wondering if his shaking legs would even hold him, and had just decided to try to climb to his feet again when the door opened once more.

Kylo Ren, masked once more, strode into the room. He lifted his hand-- Mouse ducked, whimpering-- and with a thud that rattled the collection of blank datapads, deposited the largest jar of cloudberry jam Mouse had ever laid eyes on. 


End file.
